In the Crumbling Walls
by for you to notice
Summary: He wanted to save her. He did what he thought she needed most. He was overcome by sadness and a grief that even he couldn't understand. One shot.


_Set after the Proposal. Based on Coldplay's A Rush of Blood to the Head, written by Guy Berryman, Jon Buckland, Will Champion, and Chris Martin, and a little bit by Aqualung's Strange and Beautiful, written by Matt Hales. Josh Schwartz owns most of what I do not. This one's a little darker than what I usually do. I do not truly feel this is inside him; it's just a view, I think if you've read anything else I've ever written, you'll know I adore him. Peace and love..._

The cheesiest songs and sappiest movies didn't have anything when compared to the way he felt about her.

No one knew how much he cared about her. How well he had memorized each inch of her skin from the times she had let him see it all. His breath still got caught in the back of his throat everytime she ran her hand down his stomach and traced the silhouette of his belt with her ring finger. She knew him so well and she understood him better than anyone could comprehend.

But the romance novel had lost its princess, and the knight in shining armor wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to do.

And it wasn't fair.

All day, he'd think about the things she had told him in the few months that they had been together. Think about how she said her father couldn't see her the way he did, like he could _see_ to her eyes without any distraction. Look far and completely. And how she said her step-mom and threatened her with boarding school if she ever told her father about the late night escapades with the paperboy. Emphasis on boy. How she had shuddered and crept closer to him under the covers and laid her head down on his neck and said he was the only one. The only one she could tell anything and everything. And he kissed her forehead and felt her hand slip to his side, squeezing lightly at the already flushed skin beneath his arm. And she'd fall asleep like that, in his arms.

But he wasn't the only one. The same father that didn't notice her stepmother threatening her and couldn't see her eyes was making her hate him. For no reason. And it really wasn't fair. Because he cared more about her than they could understand. He cared about her in ways her father couldn't even glimpse. But it didn't matter. Because she was blinded by this man. She was now one of them who can't understand. But he knew she could. Understand. He knew he could show her. And he knew how he could get her to fall asleep in his bed, trusting him that much. He had to fix her. He had to take care of her. Because he said he always would. Never change.

She had horrible scars in her life. He wanted to erase them. To have them dissolve into ashes spread on the ground that were left for the grass to perish underneath. He needed to do something. She meant too much to him. She had to understand again. He would help her forget the scars and blemishes in her past and get his hands back on her skin, any inch of her skin that she was willing to give to him. He didn't even care anymore. He just needed her sleeping beside him. She would see.

It was late and the night made him feel like John Cusack, holding a boom box under his coat, Peter Gabriel ready to say the words he could not. But his boom box was much smaller. Much more effective in this case. His box could fit in his pocket, cardboard covering the soft pieces of wood that he had gotten from a gas station. A gas station had seemed too cheap, but it was the nearest place he had gotten to. So it would do.

He knelt in the grass, light specks of dew ready for morning brushing against his jeans. It didn't matter. He looked up and saw her window, the pink curtains billowing out, inviting him in. He could rescue her easily. Be her knight in shining armor again. He could repair her life. He would take care of it. She would cry tears of joy and fall into his arms where she could stay. Where she belonged. With him. Away from the people that didn't understand her. They weren't important anymore. They'd probably be taken care of as well, because he would have no time to rescue them too. They weren't important. He had to take care of her and they wouldn't help him at all. They wanted to hurt her. He knew; he thought she knew as well. She could understand why he didn't rescue them. She would thank him.

So he pulled out the box with Exxon scrawled on the cover and he lifted it, watching the supple pieces of wood stand stick straight together, neatly lined up. He took the one in the first row, on the right, out and stared at it for just a second before scratching it against the coarse ribbon on the back of the Exxon disaster. He scratched a second time, and held the wood a little ahead of him, wondering if a thing so small could really do the job. It would have to.

He held it down, a little off the grass, and let the plastic of her house catch. It took a little while, and the disaster had already spread down the wood and nearly touched his fingers, when the plastic finally ignited. It poofed a little bit and he watched it curl a little while, smoke started to come off. The flame was small, but after a while it would be finished. He should go get her, because it would take a while for him to convince her to come. But she would come. Because she cared about him too.

He stood away from the smoke and slipped into the door to her basement, careful to go quietly so that her parents weren't woken up too. Because then they would want to be rescued as well, and his arms weren't that strong. But he could carry her. Carry her out of her prison and back where she belonged.

He jogged up her stairs, his sneakers only making a light squeak every now and then. He didn't bother knocking on the door, because you didn't do that when you were saving someone. There wasn't time to lose. He saw her, sleeping underneath the shiny pink comforter he loved so much. It was bright and flashy, but if he remembered correctly, and he always did, she had gotten it on her ninth birthday. And so it was really her.

He knelt at the side of her bed, finally seeing her face, those deep brown eyes covered by eyelids above smudged eyeliner. He would see them again soon, and he would take care of them. He could see the girl behind them, and then he would care for her forever and always.

He laid a warm hand on top of hers, and finally noticed that his own hand was sweating. He shook her hand a little, watching her eyes, so he would be the first thing she saw when she awoke. Her eyelids shook too, a little cautious, but finally sliding open when he shook her one more time. They looked a little worried, but she sat up, her hand over her lips.

"What are you doing here?"

"Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me. We need to get out of here."

"Cohen, what are you..."

"I'll tell you everything. You'll understand everything. But we have to go."

"Why? I mean, I can't. You know. You understand. I told you."

"I don't care. I know you, and you know me. And that's all that matters. I love you."

"Cohen, stop. No. You don't. You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes I do. I love you. I love you more than anyone."

"Stop. Now. Please, Cohen, let's just..."

"No. We can't just, because we have to go now. Before it's too late."

"Don't you get it? It's already too late. This is..."

"You have to come now. Please. I'll tell you why later. But now, please just come with me."

"Cohen..."

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

He encircled her back with his arm and slid his other arm under her covers, reaching a cotton covered thigh. He swept her into his arms and carried her the best he could out of the room. She wasn't saying much, but seemed shocked, and hit his arm every now and then, making it harder to keep her straight. But he could do it. He had to.

After he had rescued her, he brought her far away from the house, but still close enough so they could see it when the flames erupted into the air, so she could see what he had done for her. And she'd realize that he was the only one again. The only one.

She was almost crying now, trying to plead with him to tell her what was going on and to make him understand that she couldn't be with him. He was just waiting for the flames to shoot into the air.

From her palm, he heard a light shaking. He spun around to see her holding a phone up to her ear, murmuring into it, her hand shaking in his.

"What are you doing?"

She hung up the phone and shivered. "Nothing. My dad just wanted to make sure I was okay. There was some smoke underneath my window, but the grass smothered whatever fire was there. He just wanted to make sure the smoke hadn't gotten into my room. I told him no. I didn't tell him where I was. Can I please go back? Seth, please understand that I..."

He couldn't hear her. He had failed her. The grass that was supposed to have been killed had murdered him instead. The specks of water still on the knees of his jeans were the one thing that had gotten in his way. He had rescued his princess and attempted to kill the dragon. But he hadn't. He still wasn't good enough for her. He never would be. And she would never know how he had tried to save her. She would never be able to understand again.__

_You said I'm gonna buy this place and burn it down _

_I'm gonna put it six feet underground _

_You said I'm gonna buy this place and watch it fall_

_Stand here beside me baby in the crumbling walls _

_Oh I'm gonna buy this place and start a fire_

_Stand here until I fill all your hearts desires_

_Because I'm gonna buy this place and see it burn_

_And do back the things it did to you in return_


End file.
